


To 'Err' is Human, to 'Woo' is Pigeon.

by HannahRose063



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: I Blame Tumblr, M/M, Other, Pigeons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 09:56:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11228583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HannahRose063/pseuds/HannahRose063
Summary: I will fill this ship tag myself if I have to.





	1. A Guest Has Arrived At The Park.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Corvid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Corvid/gifts).



> I blame my inability to find establishments despite google maps in hand, boasting about what a great homing pigeon i am, and Corvid drawing transformer birbs.

The Botanical Gardens of Brisbane City were a beautiful place. A little diamond of life in The Other's forest of concrete and steel, safe from their strange metal nests they traveled in or the hard water of their trees that hurt many a bird. But here? Here it was a paradise. An ecosystem. A safe haven.   
Grass stretched for many a wing, trees rose high from the peat moss, insects trundled the undergrowth, and the water dragons danced through the little streams connecting the Brisbane river to its Other-made ponds. But what made it special, was the life that came to life as the first rays of light touched the treetops and feathers ruffled from nest to nest. Be you big, or small, omnivore or insectivore, there was never a shortage of food. Not with The Others who passed through by the minute. Be it a crumb, or a chip, they seemed to take delight in tossing their food at those of the Gardens. As though they thought the Birdfolk less than capable of feeding themselves. Not that anyone really complained. An ecosystem was an ecosystem. Everyone had a part to play. Except the Ibis. Those dead eyed little aliens bobbing about the grounds sipping bin water. No. They had to go. Every morning, they had to go.  
Shockwave could deal with the finches, chirping and play swooping him. He could deal with the common pigeons, mating everywhere no matter the season. And he could deal with the seagulls screaming that blasted  _"Mine!"_  at every food scrap dropped. But the ibis? The line was drawn there.

Giving his feathers one more preen to get the perfect shine to that purple-near-black plumage, and the raven was pushing off from his nest way atop the gnarled fig trees to take flight, his wings taking his weight to send him along the rolling hills to begin his routine; hit each picnic area to drive the ibis back into their concrete city to pester The Others before finding something himself when the first of The Other's come filtering through. But look at that. Bin Chicken at four o'clock.

Poor dolt barely knew what hit is as the corvid buzzed past, beak yanking on a tail feather to draw it from its dumpster dive with a startled honk. Again and again the raven circled and struck, battering it with wings or pecking at the straw like beak to make the point known. And it was taken quite well as it took to the air, buffeting the raven with bin scented feathers as the ibis went off to find some other bin for a meal. A sharp  _Wark!_ of "And stay out" sent after it and Shockwave was nodding at one less illogical species in the gardens when movement off to the side caught his eye.

From a distance and its colouring, the little ragged pigeon had blended very well to the concrete beside the bin housing. It was no city pigeon, that was for sure. No greys or iridescent greens and violets decorated this little thing. No. It was more predominantly brown and red, with a little orange head and black mottled wings. And it was a sorry sight. It's little sides heaving, the pink skin visible through the patches of broken or plucked feathers across its body and wings, but closed examination deemed that red feathers were not natural to this little pigeon. Only having been bloodied and muddied in what was clear an escape attempt. And to be here, alive, albeit huddled against a slab of concrete, it had succeeded in doing so from the little gold eye flicking about the sky in panic.

Hopping down a few wings away from the little newcomer, and the raven was giving a soothing little croak as he came closer for a better look, expecting the little fellow to sprint or take flight but it didn't so much as flinch, clearly having more important things like keep an eye on the sky as if not trusting the trees overhead to reveal what was in their branches, practically flat to the ground by the time Shockwave stood over the little thing. A nudge of its side with his beak slightly unnerved at how it seemed to stare through him, and the little thing practically flopped to its side in reflex, still glassy eyed.

Ah. Shock. Made sense with all the missing feathers and battered appearance. If it stayed like this, some Other or their chick would find it and it wouldn't live much longer than that. Their chicks were quite ... Brutal. They didn't even eat what they hunted, just wandered off. Rabid little things.

A decision made, and the corvid was using his beak to roll the little thing back onto its feet and belly to grab it, didn't even earn a sound, talons pressing the wings into the little sides as his own snapped down, pushing air between them to take the pair off the ground and back to his nest.

It seems he had a little guest for a time.


	2. Not All Gold Shines.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shockwave has a healthy pigeon on his hands ... Now what's he do?

Three Days.

Three days it had been since Shockwave had found the little pigeon huddled in the dirt and it was possibly the oddest little pigeon he had met. All it did was huddle in the nest and watch him with those wide little eyes, not so much as uttering a sound even when brought food. He'd even tried to withhold a little crust corner till it spoke but in the end he dismissed that and pushed it closer. Poor thing might actually be mute. But after yesterday's storm rolled through and the raven took advantage of the weather to help preen blood and mud from the feathers to leave the thing looking so pitifully ratty, he'd found quite the surprise. 

It was no city pigeon, clearly, from its slate and white feathers. Accented with that little orange head and little flecks of yellow around its brow and primary flight feathers. Brilliantly so. Couple that with the black marbled wings and he had quite the little foreigner this far out. Whatever caught it first must have quite the hunting grounds to get it this far away from the bush or woodlands. He'd asked the other pigeons for a type, they just shrugged. The bower birds had no idea, asking for Bekky and a blue. The seagulls thought the little thing was a food, earning them a sharp peck after squawking " _mine_?". Seems even the raven was at a loss on species for now.  

By the seventh day, the little prickles of feather regrowth where coming forth on the wings and chest, and the little scar scabs underneath were healing nicely.

By day ten, the little pecks at the food brought were less lethargic and he'd even caught Mute moving around the nest after the sun's warmth when he thought Shockwave had flown off.

By the fortnight, the pigeon looked better off for wear. His feathers had grown back in, a tad crooked but the next moult would fix that. But what a dapper little thing. A little golden breast, tricolour wings, and pretty orange crest all made for a very fancy guest. But despite his new feathers, the raised appetite, and nest shuffles, the little thing went nowhere near the edges of the nest. Any attempts to coax the little thing off into the great wide world turned into a frantic chase around the nest before flopping submissively onto his side and little feet tucked up against the feathers. No doubt the paranoia of what got it was still out there plagued him even this far away from whatever bird of prey had caught it to start with, but seems Shockwave's work here was hardly done here.

* * *

 

It _had_ been slow progress, but by the month mark progress had indeed been made.

We had gone from huddling in the nest day by day to perching on the support branches, even walking up and down them, in time Shockwave even got to witness the proud ruffle of Mute when it flew over to the next adjacent branch for a grasshopper. While flight was no longer a concern, it could not stay here forever. This was a raven nest. It was like having a paranoid cuckoo bird, but at least it fed itself. The fig tree attracted bugs in droves and at night, the little snaps of its beak after mosquitos was at least promising if not persistent. All with time, patience, and trust. And Shockwave had that trust from his little shadow that now followed him around to an extent. Tottering around the nest tree to pick for bugs or water, and there was still the one thing the raven couldn't trust out of him;  
It's little habit of playing dead whenever something flew by.

It was bad. If the pigeon did that around an Other or a predator, it would be game over, and all this care for naught. It was ... Illogical.

"Why do you do that?" The raven asked, remembering the first time the pigeon had pulled such an act. Mute had been scratching away at the grass one moment and the next laying upon his side as though dead or dying. The poor corvid had freaked out something spectacular, poking and prodding the little avian with his beak to stir it, making quite the ruckus in panic, when the pigeon promptly rolled back to its feet with a little fluffle of feathers and went back to chasing a bug.

But as usual, he was met with silence after a little amber head tilt, the answer instead being offered a little beetle.

"No. I'm alright. You keep it" 

A little ruffle of wings from the pigeon, and the beetle was down the gullet in a swift snap of beak. Before the little thing practically hopped at the drop of rain on the grass beside it. The next hitting the raven, to cast his gaze up at the dark clouds rolling in. 

"We best return to the nest. No doubt this storm will be bad"

 

 


End file.
